How He Met Mary Morstan
by Lynn Larsh
Summary: Mary is unexpected and unique and most definitely not dull, no matter what Sherlock will have him believe.


**Mary x John**

It was uncanny how comfortable I felt now, walking onto crime scenes. There were certain details that changed, yes, like the place or the size of the gathering of onlookers or the crime itself, but there were things I'd learned to expect too. Like the body. There was always a body, sometimes more than _one_ body, and it was always hiding secrets that only Sherlock could see. There was always at least one cop with a glare pointed in Sherlock's, and sometimes even my direction. And there was always that witness, the one that didn't know anything or didn't see anything or saw everything which really meant they saw all the things Sherlock already knew which meant they were useless because all witnesses, at their core, were useless, apparently.

"An amalgamation of aged and emotionally crippled recollections at best," he'd said to me once. But letting things like fear or, God forbid _sentiment,_ get in the way of recalling what color the murderer's eyes were or if their trouser cuffs had dust on them were things that Sherlock simply could not allow. Which is why, despite the thrill I sometimes still unwittingly got at seeing Sherlock rip apart a crime scene like some sort of intellectual superhero, it made me visibly nervous whenever Sherlock went off to "question" a witness.

And this time was no different. More so even when I saw the look on her face. Dazed, in shock, hardly suitable for Sherlock's type of borderline interrogation.

"Oh, God, he's going to tear the poor woman to shreds," I mumbled partly to myself and partly to Lestrade who followed my gaze with a knowing look of despair. "Excuse me," I nodded, rushing at the very least to get to the woman before the first question.

Which, of course, made little difference.

"Where were you when you heard the woman scream?"

"I was across the-"

"No," he cut her off. "Be exact, please."

She paused and then tried again. "I was… Right next to the post box. I was mailing a letter."

"I said _exact_." Sherlock rolled his eyes as if her response was both blatantly inept and a waste of his time. Which, to him, it probably was. "Were you facing the box or turned towards the warehouse? Did the scream sound distant or muffled? Did it echo? Be _specific._"

"Sherlock," I warned, offering the girl a look of apology only to find that she was genuinely thinking on Sherlock's words, not weeping or panicking or even getting angry. Just thinking. And then-

"I'd just put the letter in the box, so my back was to it, but I turned towards the warehouse when I heard it. I was no more than a few steps in front of the post box, and the scream sounded…" She paused. "Muffled _and _echoed, if that makes sense."

And then Sherlock did something I didn't expect. He smiled. "Perfectly." He said before closing his eyes and raising clasped hands to his lips, the man whirling around to face the warehouse, already lost in whatever Sherlock considered thought. So I offered what I hoped was a more comforting alternative to the woman at my side who was all wrapped in the blanket like a proper witness, but staring back at me like she was anything but.

"I'm sorry about him," I cleared my throat and the woman smiled, shaking her head.

"It's alright," she replied, tightening the blanket around herself with a shrug. "They were understandable questions."

I blinked, smirking. "You thought so?"

"Not really, no." She smirked back. "But I'm sure he had a reason for asking them. He's an investigator or something?"

"Or something," I chuckled, holding out my hand, trying not to notice how beautiful she was. _She's a _witness_ for God's sake, John! She's had enough distress for one night without you- _"John Watson." I cut myself off, smothering my inner monologue with a mental strip of duct tape. Because she was already grabbing my hand and blushing probably because of the cold but it made her look so undeniably cute and sweet and normal, and damnit if I didn't need that in my life right now.

"Mary Morstan," she smiled up at me, shaking my hand firmly before repositioning the blanket around her shoulders.

And that was all I was allowed, I guess. Because that's when Sherlock decided to return to earth and ruin everything. As usual.

"Tell Lestrade to apprehend the bartender on our way out," Sherlock faced us, a look of boredom I'd become quite familiar to already creeping into his expression of revelation. "This case just got exceedingly dull. Come along, John."

I looked from Mary to Sherlock and back, aiming for vagueness, for casualness, anything to keep him from reading too much into what I was about to say. "Actually, Sherlock-"

But just like that, it was already too late.

"Oh, I see." Sherlock cut me off, throwing me a look of impatience before settling his gaze on Mary. My heart practically stopped.

"Sherlock, don't." I tried. Pleaded even, but his eyes were already scanning her, analyzing her, reading her whole life story in the stitching of her clothes and the vibrancy of her bright green eyes.

But Sherlock didn't hear me. "I don't know what you see in this one, John," he said instead, reaching to grab one of her hands. "An artist judging by the calluses on the insides of her fingers and various mediums beneath her fingernails, but if her three year old blouse is any indication, not a paid one, so that means it's either a hobby or a failed occupation, studied in school but not followed and unable to drop the notion of an eventual career despite the availability of other jobs in… Law enforcement, if the powder burns are any indication." He dropped her hand and caught a strand of hair between his fingers. "This is the umpteenth time this woman has dyed her hair which means she not only has a strong dislike for her original color," he looked right at me for a split second to say, "Blond by the way," before continuing. "But considering this is somewhere between the fifth and tenth color change, it can only mean that she is impulsive, bordering on fickle, which if I do recall from your past experience, John, you find aggravating and eventually tiring."

I ran a hand over my face and mouthed another apology to Mary, grabbing the bastard by the wrist, gripping tightly to get the point across. "Alright, Sherlock, that's enough."

"Are we sure? Because there's certainly-"

"Amazing." Mary broke in suddenly, eyes wide with disbelief. We both looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Excuse me?" I said, Sherlock merely raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

But Mary just laughed. "That was brilliant, seriously. You figured all that out just by looking at me? That's incredible!"

Again, Sherlock and I shared a look, Sherlock clearing his throat. "Yes, well."

"He does that," I finished for him.

"What else can you see?" She grinned, inching forward on the edge of the car she'd been leaning against, eager, but this time, Sherlock looked at me in confusion, not sure how to proceed if it didn't mean intentionally frightening the girl away. I just shrugged, motioning for him to continue. Sherlock popped the collar of his jacket and shoved his hands in his pocket, leaning forward enough to push the boundaries of personal space with the girl.

"You don't have to do this," I told Mary, but Sherlock shushed me at once, Mary giggling at how quickly that shut me up. I rolled my eyes at him for effect, though.

"You're attracted to the good doctor as well, I see." Sherlock hummed, Mary's face growing pinker, her eyes glancing up at me and away too quickly for it to have been intentional. Suddenly this seemed like an invasion of privacy, a magic trick meant to humiliate the audience like Sherlock was known to do.

"Okay, Sherlock. Very funny, now just-"

"Dilated pupils, quickened pulse when I said John's name while your hand was in mine a moment ago, body shifted just slightly in his direction. And I would venture to guess, based off of the less than subtle shift of her already low cut top, that she's interested in something more than a casual date with our Dr. Watson, as well." Sherlock went on, and just as I opened my mouth to end it, Mary laughed.

"Wow, that's…" She started, shaking her head.

I panicked then. "I'm so sorry, Mary, I-"

"Impressive," she finished, however, clapping her hands together. "Spot on too. Well done."

I'm pretty sure my jaw fell slack at that. "You…" I floundered, rubbing a hand along the back of my neck in nervous astonishment. "Are you serious?"

Mary tilted her head, offering me a look that was a veritable display of implications. "Science doesn't lie… _Doctor._" She winked. And if my jaw was gaping before, it was off its hinges now.

"Oh _please_." Sherlock huffed, reminding me of his presence by walking away. "This is dull. Come along, John."

"Sher- Ugh. Right, then. I…" I cleared my throat, glancing at Sherlock and back, the scene ending too quickly. "I guess, I'll… I mean, I don't really-"

"Do you have a phone, Dr. Watson?" Mary smiled coyly. And after a slower response time than I'd have liked, I smiled back, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone without hesitation, placing it in her open hand. After a moment, she handed it back. "There," she smirked. "I put it under Hot Witness Who Wants to Shag Me."

I nearly dropped my cell. "Wha-! Really…?"

"Nope, sorry." She grinned. "Just Mary Morstan." Then she got to her feet, walked up to me, and gave me a brief but surprisingly sweet kiss on the cheek. "But that doesn't make it any less true."

The entire cab ride home, I had to keep myself from texting her too soon for fear of looking desperate. Which lasted until a moment or so of making it back to the flat.

**What would you say to a date then? **I typed, hitting send before I could convince myself not to.

"Texting her already?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, flopping himself down on the couch like a brooding child. "This seems reminiscent of another one of your little love interests. What was her name? Sarah? Jeanette? You know who I'm talking about. The one with the-"

"Oh shut up." I snapped, pocketing my phone to keep from waiting for the screen to light up with a reply. "Mary is unique and attractive and there's nothing you could say that will keep me from wanting to go out on a date with this girl."

"She's an arms dealer from China."

"No she's not."

"Alright, fine!" Sherlock frowned, rolling himself into a ball on the couch. "But I don't trust her."

"You don't trust anyone I bring home." I smirked, my heart rate spiking at the sudden _ding! _that went off in my pocket. I scrambled for the phone, grinning like an idiot at the reply.

**Sounds great! Tonight? Nightcap at my place? I really don't feel like being alone right now.**

"She just wants to have sex with you, John," Sherlock muttered disapprovingly, suddenly right next to my ear, reading the text over my shoulder. I nudged him away so I could reply outside of his examining gaze.

"I'm okay with that." I offered matter-of-factly, hitting send and pocketing my phone before grabbing my coat. "Don't wait up."

"Thanks for coming," Mary smiled, tucking a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear as she shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch. "I know it was kind of forward of me."

"Maybe a little," I smirked, pouring some more wine into her glass and then my own, placing it back on the coffee table. "But you won't hear me complaining." Mary laughed, the sound of it mixed with the two and a half glasses of wine settling into a nice, warm mixture at the center of my chest.

"Well," Mary finished breathily once our laughter had died down. "I'm glad you reacted positively to my forwardness, then."

I raised my glass in a semi-toast and took a sip, lowering it back to the table next to the mostly empty bottle. "Me too," I nodded, recognizing at once the approach of our first awkward silence. So I attempted to thwart it with the first thing that popped into my head. "Did you know her?"

"Who?" Mary asked, raising the glass to her lips.

"The, uh… victim. From earlier." I said, trailing my thumbs around the stem of my own glass nervously. _Great topic changer, John, really. Top notch. _"In your text, I mean. You said you didn't want to be alone so… I just assumed. This is terrible date talk. I am so sorry."

But, as surprisingly usual of the wonderful girl, she just chuckled softly, taking another sip of wine before letting it rest on the table as well. "No, actually. I didn't know her," Mary replied. "And while it may not make the list of most commonly used date conversations, I'd definitely mark it as most memorable, so…" She smiled, leaning in closer to me, shifting forward some and tucking her legs under herself. "What happened was scary, for sure. But I'm going to be honest with you, John." She scooted in closer still, my breath caught in my throat.

"Okay," I practically whispered.

"I didn't want to be alone tonight," she smirked, both sexy and sweet, the hint of pink to her cheeks either a flattering shyness or a flush of heat I couldn't deny that we shared. When she finished her sentence, it was in a hot breath of sound against my neck, her lips grazing the sensitive skin at my pulse with each word. "Because it meant I wouldn't be here with you."

And then, letting her lips trail softly from neck to ear to jaw to chin to mouth, I found myself muttering lamely, "I'd say this is the better option then, yeah?" I could have punched myself in the face.

But again, Mary just laughed. "Yeah." She agreed, another breath of sound, this time ghosting between our open lips for a moment before trapped inside our mouths by a kiss that quite literally made me dizzy.

It was hard not to be swept away by this girl, the way she inched herself across me, straddling me, rocking her hips against me just so as she continued on with a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and sharp arousal. So I responded the way any normal man would, military courtesy be damned.

Without much warning, I'm ashamed to admit, I lifted her up enough to lay her down along the length of the couch, kissing her back as fiercely as she brought while still reeling at the feel of her teeth worrying my bottom lip or her fingers undoing the buttons of my shirt, my belt buckle, my fly.

"How many hands do you have?" I heard myself grunt, flushing instantly at the ridiculousness of what I'd just allowed to escape my mouth. Mary stopped, just as breathless, her hands frozen mid unzipping.

"Too fast?" She panted.

"Maybe a little?" I chuckled out by way of a joke to match the one from our previous banter. Only this time it was met with Mary's uncertain smile, her hands drawing back, away from where I suddenly, hungrily wanted them. "I'm kidding." I tried to regroup, leaning back into her, kissing at the hollow of her ear to whisper, "Would it be presumptuous of me if I changed my vote to not fast enough?"

Mary wiggled beneath me in a glorious way before replying, "Maybe a little."

"Then we're even," I laughed, a breathy attempt at sound before recapturing her mouth with my own. Thankfully, her hands returned to their exploring, pushing my shirt from my shoulders, raking delicate fingernails lightly down my chest. It took every ounce of focus I had to remember my manners and take to unbuttoning her shirt too, using the motion of pushing off and down her back to unhook her bra, pausing just long enough to gauge her reaction.

Which was apparently too long of a pause considering how she grabbed my hand, cupping my palm against one pert breast. If I was being honest with myself, this was a little faster than I was used to, but it was ignorable for the way she moaned, the way she whispered my name and arched up into my touch. And especially for the way she, at that very moment, managed to slip a hand past the waistband of my pants practically without my knowledge, a rush of electricity racing through me at the feel of Mary's fingers wrapping around my-

"Oh _God_ yes…" I hissed, bucking up into her hand. A hand which was gone almost as quickly as it had made itself known, it seemed, Mary pulled me down by the back of neck to plant a none too gentle kiss against my mouth.

"Bedroom?" The word vibrated against our lips. She tasted like wine and some sort of spice from her chapstick that made my lips tingle and something deep and indescribable and I couldn't have said no even if I'd wanted to. Which I really, _really_ didn't.

"Yes." I nodded, removing myself from the couch and helping her to her feet, which in turn helped her into another kiss, the two of us stumbling across the living room, down the hall, into the bedroom without so much as pulling apart to check where we were going. Though, somehow in all of that, we managed to lose the rest of our clothing, God knows how…

Suddenly, Mary was pushing me onto the bed, straddling my hips before the bed had even stopped shaking. Which was when she chose to pause.

"I'm not usually like this," She shook her head, breathing heavy, trying not to look at me. "I just want you to know that."

She was really beautiful, I realized. Who knew why she'd found herself attracted to me, enough so to invite me over for a shag on a first date at that, but I couldn't deny that I felt the same. Laying there beneath her, watching the first real truth of her personality shine past the heady, dizzying haze of lust, I felt exactly the same.

So, despite the ache in my balls, the way I could probably cut glass with my dick at that moment, I reached up, placed a hand to her cheek and said, "We can stop. If you want."

She looked at me like a had two heads, like the possibility had never crossed her mind. Or rather, like she'd never been offered it as one. So, it didn't surprise me when she leaned down to kiss me, eyes shining with a gratitude I could only assume meant we were done for the night.

What did surprise me, however, was the sudden feel of her hand reaching between us to line me up with her entrance.

"Jesus…" I gasped as she slid herself around me, slow and steady and so wonderfully impossibly tight. But that feeling of being completely and blissfully surrounded by her was nothing compared to the sensation that wracked through me when she began to move.

Now, I'd had sex before. Not many times thanks to my years in the military, but a relatively average amount nonetheless. None of those times held a candle to this, to now, to the way Mary rolled her hips against me, bobbed on top of me, made every inch of me feel like it was on fire. I couldn't say what it was about her, about this, about now, but it was mind numbing, brilliant. She was brilliant.

Which struck me with an all-encompassing desire to make her feel just as wonderful, just as hot and perfect and just as close to ecstasy.

So, placing one hand on her hip to steady myself, I reached for the point where we were connected and trailed my fingers up until I found her sweet spot, Mary literally, physically tightening around me as I circled her clit with my thumb.

"F-Fuck, John…" Mary moaned out my name, the sound almost enough to make me come right there, but if I'd learned anything from the Army, it was self-restraint. And I wasn't finishing without her.

Keeping up that rhythm, I began to thrust from below to match, Mary throwing her head back in pleasure as I tightened my hand on her hip. God, I was close, felt like my whole existence was behind held together by a thread, but Mary seemed just as near to completion, her eyes shut tight, her teeth biting hard into her bottom lip. She looked intoxicating. Even more so when she tightening even further around me, muttering a string of curses, my name, unintelligible syllables on a low whine as she came.

And two, three more thrusts into her quivering, sporadically tensing form and I was done too, plummeting over the edge as my orgasm rocketed through me, exploding through me and into her as I cried out her name through gritted teeth.

We stayed there for a moment, connected, catching our breath, but then she carefully rose herself off of me, laying down next to me, a hand on my chest. A warmth bloomed there beneath her touch. Until it was replaced with an abrupt spike of panic.

"Condom…" I groaned before I could stop myself, which Mary so casually replied to with, "Birth control."

"Ah," I cleared my throat before chuckling deeply, a chuckle witch turned into a full-fledged laugh after a second or two of attempting to hold it in.

"What?" Mary settled her chin on her hands still splayed across my chest, looking up at me past pretty, long eyelashes.

"Nothing," I smiled, pulling her in, cuddling her against me. She felt right there. Like she fit where so many others didn't. "You're just… Interesting."

"Is that a good thing?" Mary raised an eyebrow at me but continued to settle into my side, molding against me. I nodded, kissing her forehead and closing my eyes.

"It's a great thing. Makes you unique."

"Oh good." Mary yawned, nuzzling up into my shoulder. "I suppose it's better than being dull." If I'd been upright and not cuddled against a beautiful girl like I was, my mouth probably would have fallen open. Either way, Mary seemed to notice the way I tensed. "What now?"

"N-Nothing," I shook my head, closing my eyes again. There was no way Sherlock was ruining this moment without even being here. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't about to let that happen. "Absolutely nothing."


End file.
